


Surviving is Overrated

by alienfairyprincess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Death, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm dying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Very depressing, everyone's dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 22:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17610326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienfairyprincess/pseuds/alienfairyprincess
Summary: Wrote this between 3am and 6am on 0 sleep. Unbeta-d. Not-sleep-deprived me has not read this. may delete upon further review. A take on Regulus' death and some random childhood stuff with him and Sirius. Fun stuff. Not fun stuff. Not fun at all. Frickin abusive parents, man. This is very sad and unfortunately follows canon. I despise canon. Imma write an AU bc this is much too sad 0/10 do not like





	Surviving is Overrated

So. This is how it ends. 

Regulus stared into the goblet for a long second, watching his distorted reflection peer back at him from the surface of the poison. He and Sirius both thought they’d die a long time ago, whether by the hand of their parents (‘if you drop your fork one more time your head’ll be up on the wall with those old house elves’, Sirius had joked. As if he wouldn’t find a way to take the fall for the mistake as he always did) or their own. They’d made an agreement before Sirius left for Hogwarts that they were both going to survive out of sheer spite. No matter what happened, they planned to flip off the world together for as long as possible and die with a smirk. Funny how short that had lasted. Sirius had returned from his first year at Hogwarts a Gryffindor, with wild tales of his new best friends. Regulus, hollow-eyed, having spent the year alone for the first time ever, met his brother’s tales with jealousy. How dare he continue to rebel? Did he not understand what their parents would do to him – to them? Sirius never seemed to understand that every one of his punishments were for both of them. The moment Walburga raised her voice at Regulus for some imagined fault, Sirius was right there to say or do something more upsetting to get Regulus out of whatever punishment he deserved. Happy to keep his baby brother out of it. Sirius never noticed the way their mother glued Regulus to his chair with a single disappointed glare before dragging Sirius from the room. He never saw the look she gave her younger son as she emerged from whatever place she had sequestered her eldest in. Glancing down her perfect nose at him as if to say ‘this is your fault. If you hadn’t screwed up he wouldn’t have been punished.’ Regulus had often wished Sirius would just stay out of it and let him deal with it as he could. Stupid Gryffindor. Taking punishments and acting rashly on a whim without stopping to think what it actually entailed. Their mother was far smarter than Sirius gave her credit for. 

Two days after Sirius had left for Hogwarts, Regulus had angered their mother for the first time alone. He’d been meticulous in following every rule, taking every instruction to heart, and so he had thought himself safe. He could survive this alone. Unlike Sirius, he was capable of thinking before acting. He could make sure that he never stepped out of line, that he bit his tongue whenever mother said something horrid, that he smiled at all the right times and got all visitors to compliment Walburga on what a well-behaved nine-year-old son she had. And so he was surprised when, out of the blue, his mother cornered him as he sat reading in a chair in the far corner of a forgotten sitting room. He and Sirius had loved this room. Their mother never bothered them there, and there were plenty of cabinets to hide in and shelves of books for Regulus to valiantly attempt to read before throwing at his brother for a particularly bad pun. This was a safe place, and so the intrusion was both unexpected and incredibly jarring. He had behaved perfectly all morning, as usual, and although mother never voiced her approval aloud, he was certain she was pleased with him. And so, he made the mistake of wandering off to read and write a letter to his brother. He was too engrossed in the book to notice his mother’s sharp steps until a half-second before she backhanded him across the face and began yelling at him. What on earth had he done? He stared up at her in utter bafflement for a moment, not realizing his crime of failing to answer when called upon.

He’d done his best to follow all the rules, to be the perfect son that Sirius had never attempted to be, to survive in a world where no one was there to pick up the pieces except himself. And all that had led him here. Here, through a myriad terrible decisions and participation in murders beyond count and alienating his brother, the only family he had ever cared for. He scoffed at his reflection and looked back towards the green-glowing water. How bad could it possibly be? Since he was definitely dying at the end of this his mother wasn’t even going to give him a tongue-lashing (and likely also a literal one) for being a spiteful, stubborn idiot of a traitor like his brother. His brother. Ha. If Sirius ever found out what Regulus had done he’d be so proud. 

Letting out the last free breath of air he expected ever to take, Regulus downed the cup of poison in one go. He stood for a second with his eyes closed, waiting for the sort of horrific pain he knew was coming. But there was nothing. Just the quiet lapping of the cursed water on the island’s edge. He vaguely heard the sound of Kreacher, asking if he was alright and suggesting hopefully that perhaps they should go back home and not do this at all. Just as he was about to open his eyes again it hit. Severe, gut-wrenching pain in his abdomen accompanied by a wave of panic. He stumbled against the basin, clutching the cup tightly in his hands, not daring to let go lest he be unable to pick it up again. After what felt like ages but was probably merely a few more seconds, he manage to stuff the pain and fear and guilt into the suitcase full of shit he had kept in his brain since he was a child. Still not opening his eyes, he managed a smirk through clenched teeth and forced down another cupful. The physical and mental pain trebled, but it was nothing new. Ha. Voldemort himself had nothing on his own mum. Straightening, shaky hands still planted on the basin for support, he spoke to Kreacher as clearly as he could manage. “Remember your promise, friend.” Kreacher made a noise of protest, he’d always hated it when Master Regulus used that term, “Whatever happens to me, take the locket and go. Destroy it. Quick as you can.” He let out a shaky breath, “and if you see Sirius-…” the house elf voiced an expression of disgust, “tell him to give them hell from me. Tell him that he was right-… a right arsehole.” Pausing to force out a chuckle, “It just took me a while to realize. And thank you, Kreacher. You are the only one I have always been able to trust.” “If Master Regulus would put down the goblet and-…” “No no,” another laugh, “thank you but the stuff I’ve already drunk will probably kill me slowly and I’d prefer to get it over with if it’s all the same to you.” He rested his weight on the goblet-less hand and raised the other with a grin that looked startlingly like his brother’s. “Cheers.”

Seconds, minutes, or decades later, he had lost track of which, the basin was empty and Kreacher was in the middle of one final protest against leaving. Thank Merlin. The goblet had fallen out of his hands after the last cup and he was certain he didn’t have the strength to retrieve it. The emotional trauma storage rooms of Regulus’ mind were filled to bursting and he was having difficulty distinguishing between the present and the vivid flashbacks his addled brain produced. Sirius, yelling at him in a Hogwarts stairwell. Sirius, leaving him, abandoning him permanently to go off and live with his precious friends. Sirius, eight years old, grinning at him after dodging a book in that empty sitting room. Oh, that was a happy memory. He should keep that one. The people he had watched die, had refused to help, had helped murder. There was no excuse and he knew it and the guilt was unbearable but hey, on the bright side he would be dead in two minutes max so technically it was only unbearable for another one-and-a-half minutes if he was lucky. Optimism. On top of that he was incredibly, unbearably thirsty. He was 1000% sure that was a trick of some sort that Voldemort had put in for shits and giggles. Surrounded-by-water-but-dying-of-thirst. The bastard was the poetically ironic type. Well, it wasn’t like he could reach the water anyways, his legs were /not/ functional and he could move approximately one half of a hand. Water. He must have said that aloud accidentally as Kreacher repeated the command in a worried tone, happy to have anything to do other than get the fuck out of dodge. Regulus tried to tell him not to bother, to really seriously leave right now, but honestly the flashbacks were far more interesting than reality at the moment and he fell back into them harder than before. The next thing he knew was the taste of water in his mouth and hey-presto, he could feel at least one of his feet. Wasn’t sure which, but it was /probably/ one or the other. He dragged his eyes open just in time to see the deathly inferni rising from the depths. Okayyyyyy gonna close them again yep nope did not need to see that. “Kreacher. You need to leave. Now.” Kreacher began to protest again, grasping on to Regulus’ arm and trying to move him. Regulus found the strength to shake him off, “Kreacher you promised!” The house elf swallowed a sob, looking back and forth between Regulus and the creatures moving steadily nearer. “Go!” Managing somehow to drag himself up to the edge of the basin once more Regulus dropped the fake locket into its depths, then turned his head towards Kreacher with a desperate expression. “You have to leave me. If you don’t, we’ll both die and for nothing. Get out now while you still can.” Seeing the inferni picking up their pace he went to draw his wand to give Kreacher a few seconds more but he could feel in his heart that he wasn’t strong enough to cast even the slightest spell as their clammy hands grasped onto his arms and chest and neck. Sobbing and clutching the real locket, Kreacher stumbled, hopping back onto the basin itself, taking one last long look at the child he’d cared for, the teen he’d comforted, the adult he’d barely met before disappearing with a loud crack.

Ten-year-old Regulus Black had sat silently crying on his bedroom floor, cradling an arm that had been bruised protecting his face from the most recent of his mother’s rages. Sirius had told him they could survive this before he left for Hogwarts, but curse him, he had friends now. Friends that weren’t Regulus. And Regulus was left alone with absolutely no one. No one who would hug him or comfort him or even check if he was still alive. Not that he needed anyone. He was old enough and strong enough and could handle himself and-… his thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of a small hand on his shoulder. He started and looked up with wide eyes. “Master Regulus?” Kreacher, the house elf he had been rude enough to title his friend back when he was a toddler, was looking back at him with eyes full of concern. “Master Regulus shouldn’t cry.” The hands moved to wipe the tears off of Regulus’ face, “Mistress knows Master Regulus is a good son, a honor to the House of Black, unlike-…” “Stop, I miss him.” Regulus sniffed. Kreacher huffed and poofed several buscuits on a napkin into existence. “Kreacher loves Master Regulus. Kreacher will always be there when Master Regulus needs him.”

Back at 12 Grimaud Place, Kreacher attempted futily to destroy the locket, failing to honor the last command Regulus had given him. Regulus was pulled into the depths by the inferni, knowing that no one (except Voldemort, once he read his cheeky last words) would know what he had done. Knowing that his brother would only remember him as too weak to escape the destiny he had been brainwashed to ever since Sirius rejected it. He died alone and without friends, as he had spent much of his childhood, but he, like his brother a decade and a half later, died with a smirk, knowing that he had absolutely positively managed to piss off quite a few death eaters, and that now that he was dead there was absolutely no way they could get back at him for it.


End file.
